Here comes that wind

Do you hear it, pushing its way forward? Be still in the early dawn and attune to its faint whispers, its slow creep skulking up from a darkness that has lingered for too long.

It comes as hushed waves of heart beats from the depths of the Earth’s core, beneath barren fields of despair. It pulses up into my bones from the deep hole I stand over, as a celebration of drum beats from long ago.

Be still, and you’ll hear it too.

The rains have poured across the disrobed and desolate, across lands ravaged by devilish fires that must rampage for rejuvenating new starts. Dew of the wet lingers in the dirt and on bare limbs.

Musty and grounding.

The sun is beginning to warm as a final preparation, as a beckoning to that first green to break through crumbled land.

Alertness pricks the air. Crispness pierces the breeze that wafts in wimples.

We wait. We know everything will change as soon as that first bud bursts through. It will flourish and reach up high to new places never dreamed of.

The shutters will have peeled away and life will be exposed in its panoramic glory. And all across that barren land, more buds will bask in growth, in patches at first, until the land is full and thriving with opportunity and life once again.

It’s coming. My bones tell me so. And there’s a quickness around me, an anticipation. A whole new landscape is about to emerge.